Another beautiful blanket of welcome moisture arrived last night bringing our 2-day total to 8-3/4 inches--at least that's what it measured on our deck railing. To God be the glory for every intricate inch! I delight in it. How many snowflakes are there in 4-3/4 inches of accumulated snow on my railing? Why is snow white? Did you know there are 12-sided snowflakes? It's such a mystery. Einstein said it best: "The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."
However, under 4 inches of snow, the location of any trash is also a mystery! Undeterred, I set out at 8:00 this morning near a fairly likely location--the Safeway parking lot. I was hard put to find much at first--just a few soggy receipts and some duct tape. But the east side of the store yielded a bonanza of cigarette butts--a veritable tobacco crematorium. So in the end, I found much more than my required 5 items of trash and 25 butts.
May I add a little FYI before closing? If some day you find yourself eating a banana in public, (not to be confused with the Banana Republic) resist the evidently overwhelming temptation to toss the banana peel out your car window, along a path or even in a Safeway parking lot. If you think a bird, elk or deer will consider it a delicacy, think again. A banana peel, no longer cheerfully yellow, is pathetically ugly sprawled in a parking lot, and nobody wants to eat it. It takes 3-5 weeks to decompose. This is partly because the peel contains some of the very chemicals used in making plastics.
Always,
Winter
Monday, April 25, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Taxes and Trash
Ah--April 15th, the day we have all been anticipating. Taxes are due if you have amassed great wealth. No wait--if you have amassed great wealth, you have an income tax lawyer who knows how to help you AVOID paying income tax. Taxes are due only if you are Joe Schmoe. The top 1% wage earners pay 38% of federal income tax. 49% of Americans pay no federal income tax at all, and Joe pays the rest.
I am not going to report the money I found. Of course not. I didn't earn it. Well, now wait. I have found $43.44, and I kinda did earn it. But nobody would collect trash for 37 cents per hour--at least not in the good ol' USA. Besides, the IRS would never believe me.
Since it snowed 10 inches yesterday, pickin' was difficult. Even if it snows that much, there is still a place where trash and ciggy butts can be found. In fact, there are lots of places. Wherever money changes hands, trash accumulates. In 6 or 7 minutes, I found one McDonald's cup, one receipt, one unopened Ranch Dressing tub, one blue pastry paper, one flyer all about vaccines, and 32 cigarette butts. It was so windy, my sack was flying horizontally (did I get that right, Morgan?) I was at Safeway. By the way, if you find yourself at Safeway with nothing to do and no sack, no picker and no gloves, don't ask the manager for a dust pan and broom. Just don't.
Happy Tax Day everybody. Somebody said that taxes aren't actually due until the 18th, but I don't believe them. It's a trap. If you're late, can you imagine penalties and interest on 3 days unpaid taxes? The Feds have to find their 14 trillion somewhere.
Always,
Winter
I am not going to report the money I found. Of course not. I didn't earn it. Well, now wait. I have found $43.44, and I kinda did earn it. But nobody would collect trash for 37 cents per hour--at least not in the good ol' USA. Besides, the IRS would never believe me.
Since it snowed 10 inches yesterday, pickin' was difficult. Even if it snows that much, there is still a place where trash and ciggy butts can be found. In fact, there are lots of places. Wherever money changes hands, trash accumulates. In 6 or 7 minutes, I found one McDonald's cup, one receipt, one unopened Ranch Dressing tub, one blue pastry paper, one flyer all about vaccines, and 32 cigarette butts. It was so windy, my sack was flying horizontally (did I get that right, Morgan?) I was at Safeway. By the way, if you find yourself at Safeway with nothing to do and no sack, no picker and no gloves, don't ask the manager for a dust pan and broom. Just don't.
Happy Tax Day everybody. Somebody said that taxes aren't actually due until the 18th, but I don't believe them. It's a trap. If you're late, can you imagine penalties and interest on 3 days unpaid taxes? The Feds have to find their 14 trillion somewhere.
Always,
Winter
Monday, April 11, 2011
Perfect Pickin'
It was a perfect day to pick. Grabbing my picker, gloves and bag, I hopped on my bike and rode about 25 yards down Shady Lane before my front brake cable broke. Reasoning that the back cable was still functioning perfectly, I could see no reason not to proceed--slowly. I had a specific destination in mind which I reached in about 10 minutes.
Nobody in beautiful Estes Park, aka God's Country, would steal my bike, but I locked it just the same. Across the street, right where this expedition was set to begin, a local merchant greeted me. "Thanks for picking up the trash. I saw you yesterday. When you finish, you can come back here and help me with these branches," she suggested. "Ha ha," I laughed. "That's a good one. That's all I need. When I finish pickin' every stray ciggy butt, Coke can, (I mention them only because they are the most tossed soft drinks in the area) paper towel, vodka bottle and cardboard box, I'll be right back to help you pick up the tree limbs. NOT!" I didn't really say that, but I did laugh.
Today there was quite an assortment of paperboard beer can boxes: Busch, Budweiser and Bud Light. I don't exactly get why you would toss these boxes out the window as you drive along the highway. I mean, what are you going to do with the full cans that were in the box? It's only about a mile from Safeway to this location, so I think it's fairly certain one could not consume 24 cans in that distance. But what do I know about drinking beer?
As I walked along enjoying communing with nature, the usual culprits emerged: a PowerAde bottle, lots of styrofoam, a wash cloth, an empty Frito bag, a Meadow Gold chocolate milk carton, a Seagrams Peach Flavored vodka bottle. But today, I was in for something new--a Goldschlager alcohol bottle. (Please inform me if you know what exact type of alcohol Goldschlager brews--those Germans--whew!) Since the Food and Drug Administration has trained us all to read labels, I read on the Goldschlager bottle that it contained "real gold flakes." Good to know.
In no time at all, I had to head back. Enjoyable as it is, one cannot pick trash without considering the time. I crossed the highway and picked in the opposite direction. By now I was lugging my full-to-the-brim garbage bag and a huge cardboard box that wouldn't fit. Back at my bike I was approached by a happy camper who had news for me: "It's tick season." I've been well aware of this fact for weeks, but thanked him just the same. "I was up on Deer Mountain yesterday, and there were at least a hundred of 'em." Now unless he had run across a deceased deer, I found this quite interesting, for I have never, ever in 39 years seen a tick unless it was on the nose of a deer or the back of my kids' neck. Anyway, thanks for reminding me about the ticks, mister. All the way home I was sure something was crawling up my leg or across my shoulder.
Always,
Winter
Nobody in beautiful Estes Park, aka God's Country, would steal my bike, but I locked it just the same. Across the street, right where this expedition was set to begin, a local merchant greeted me. "Thanks for picking up the trash. I saw you yesterday. When you finish, you can come back here and help me with these branches," she suggested. "Ha ha," I laughed. "That's a good one. That's all I need. When I finish pickin' every stray ciggy butt, Coke can, (I mention them only because they are the most tossed soft drinks in the area) paper towel, vodka bottle and cardboard box, I'll be right back to help you pick up the tree limbs. NOT!" I didn't really say that, but I did laugh.
Today there was quite an assortment of paperboard beer can boxes: Busch, Budweiser and Bud Light. I don't exactly get why you would toss these boxes out the window as you drive along the highway. I mean, what are you going to do with the full cans that were in the box? It's only about a mile from Safeway to this location, so I think it's fairly certain one could not consume 24 cans in that distance. But what do I know about drinking beer?
As I walked along enjoying communing with nature, the usual culprits emerged: a PowerAde bottle, lots of styrofoam, a wash cloth, an empty Frito bag, a Meadow Gold chocolate milk carton, a Seagrams Peach Flavored vodka bottle. But today, I was in for something new--a Goldschlager alcohol bottle. (Please inform me if you know what exact type of alcohol Goldschlager brews--those Germans--whew!) Since the Food and Drug Administration has trained us all to read labels, I read on the Goldschlager bottle that it contained "real gold flakes." Good to know.
In no time at all, I had to head back. Enjoyable as it is, one cannot pick trash without considering the time. I crossed the highway and picked in the opposite direction. By now I was lugging my full-to-the-brim garbage bag and a huge cardboard box that wouldn't fit. Back at my bike I was approached by a happy camper who had news for me: "It's tick season." I've been well aware of this fact for weeks, but thanked him just the same. "I was up on Deer Mountain yesterday, and there were at least a hundred of 'em." Now unless he had run across a deceased deer, I found this quite interesting, for I have never, ever in 39 years seen a tick unless it was on the nose of a deer or the back of my kids' neck. Anyway, thanks for reminding me about the ticks, mister. All the way home I was sure something was crawling up my leg or across my shoulder.
Always,
Winter
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I Couldn't Resist
6:15. Grey. 32 degrees. What a beautiful day. I'm up and out the door. Oh! Did I mention there is no wind? Let wind be defined as anything from 15 to 62 MPH. The flagpole south of the power plant was rippling westward. That's a good sign. An east wind means SNOW. The air was heavy with that prospect. After pickin' a few stray tissues, a wadded McDonald's sack and two empty Camel cigarette packs, the glory began. "How full of the creative genius is the air in which these are generated! I should hardly admire them more if real stars fell and lodged on my coat," Henry David Thoreau confided to his Journal in 1856. Henry and I have that at least in common--with the possible addition of resistance to paying taxes and his dislike of any alcoholic drink, preferring that every man, "...be intoxicated by the air he breathes."
As I continued pickin'--a plastic spoon, a saucer from a potted plant (I wonder what happened to the plant?), a Copenhagen tin--I heard odd clickety-clack sounds which compelled me to look up. My reward was the glorious sight of a heard of perhaps 40 elk galloping down a small bank, crossing the road, plunging into a ravine and climbing up the other side where they abruptly stopped amid the Ponderosa. This demonstration in fluidity was made all the more charming by the backdrop of snow crystals, which could have been falling for hours, but chose this moment to create an ethereal scene for me. OK, perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but I stood motionless and momentarily captivated none-the-less.
Arriving home an hour later with a bag full of what had escaped others' trash cans, I was greeted by a cheerful fire in the stove. Let the day begin.
Always,
Winter
As I continued pickin'--a plastic spoon, a saucer from a potted plant (I wonder what happened to the plant?), a Copenhagen tin--I heard odd clickety-clack sounds which compelled me to look up. My reward was the glorious sight of a heard of perhaps 40 elk galloping down a small bank, crossing the road, plunging into a ravine and climbing up the other side where they abruptly stopped amid the Ponderosa. This demonstration in fluidity was made all the more charming by the backdrop of snow crystals, which could have been falling for hours, but chose this moment to create an ethereal scene for me. OK, perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but I stood motionless and momentarily captivated none-the-less.
Arriving home an hour later with a bag full of what had escaped others' trash cans, I was greeted by a cheerful fire in the stove. Let the day begin.
Always,
Winter
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Neither Snow nor Rain...
What started out as several delicious-looking clouds in the east and a few encouraging sprinkles has become a wonderful April snowstorm. We hurried with what passed for breakfast. As a measurable snowfall was actuallly forecast for our area, I had to get out pickin' before all the discarded tissues and bits of paper would be mistaken for or hidden beneath the snow. I'm kind of like the mail man you know: "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." Well, I'm not sure about the "gloom of night" part--it's kind of hard to see trash in the dark and you might pick up something really scary, but I have made a pact with myself (what more trustworthy and agreeable person could I find?) to pick up trash every day for a year. I have defined "trash" as at least 5 things not naturally found along a street or sidewalk and 25 cigarette butts. If I can beat the snowstorm, and get my pick accomplished for the day, I'm out the door. If it happens that 3 or 4 inches fall during the night, and I cannot distinguish a cigarette butt from a little twig or a Coke can from a snowball, the gig's off for the day.
This morning was perfect--just a light rain--so off I went to an area known to be littered with litter. Just about any place in town could qualify for this disgrace, but I had a certain rocky hillside in mind. Ha! Granny to the rescue. I gave up bending down to pick up the offending items long ago, so before my pickin' stick even got warmed up, I had 210 butts in my black bag. This particular place was just nasty, so I didn't plan to inventory my "treasures" after returning home. One such treasure, however, really was just that and went right into my inside jacket pocket--a Hamilton! That, as my Gram used to say, is a "ten spot." Not bad for 45 minutes of pain in the rain. (Normally this activity for which I have developed such a fondness is total joy, but today, my shoulder decided to give me some grief.) It was all good, though, as the rain turned to a wonderful wet snow and my haul (what a great word to describe a pile of junk-- no, worse--discarded junk) was 2 black garbage bags, a pile of tin roofing and a hubcap. Sorry about picking up the hubcap if you're out looking for it. It's been my experience that even if I left it there for you to find, guess what? In a week it would still be laying sadly by the side of the road waiting for the car with 3 hubcaps to drive by. I can't just leave it there.
After 45 minutes my jeans were soggy and my leather gloves frozen, so what better place to warm up than a shop called "Coffee on the Rocks. Where the coffee is as great as the views!" And all the trash is in the waste basket.
Always,
Winter
This morning was perfect--just a light rain--so off I went to an area known to be littered with litter. Just about any place in town could qualify for this disgrace, but I had a certain rocky hillside in mind. Ha! Granny to the rescue. I gave up bending down to pick up the offending items long ago, so before my pickin' stick even got warmed up, I had 210 butts in my black bag. This particular place was just nasty, so I didn't plan to inventory my "treasures" after returning home. One such treasure, however, really was just that and went right into my inside jacket pocket--a Hamilton! That, as my Gram used to say, is a "ten spot." Not bad for 45 minutes of pain in the rain. (Normally this activity for which I have developed such a fondness is total joy, but today, my shoulder decided to give me some grief.) It was all good, though, as the rain turned to a wonderful wet snow and my haul (what a great word to describe a pile of junk-- no, worse--discarded junk) was 2 black garbage bags, a pile of tin roofing and a hubcap. Sorry about picking up the hubcap if you're out looking for it. It's been my experience that even if I left it there for you to find, guess what? In a week it would still be laying sadly by the side of the road waiting for the car with 3 hubcaps to drive by. I can't just leave it there.
After 45 minutes my jeans were soggy and my leather gloves frozen, so what better place to warm up than a shop called "Coffee on the Rocks. Where the coffee is as great as the views!" And all the trash is in the waste basket.
Always,
Winter
Friday, April 1, 2011
This is not a joke!
Odd to think that I have chosen April 1 to make my first entry on my brand new blog called "Always Winter." Those who know me know that I do not tell jokes and many times don't get jokes. I don't tell them, because remembering the punch line is absolutely crucial. Not getting jokes is a whole different animal. If I figure that one out, I'll let you know. My intelligence is average, so that couldn't be it. I do like to laugh, but it's usually when I do something really silly like the time I lined up my toes in the heel mark at the Driver's License Office and wound up staring at a blank wall instead of the camera to have my picture taken. I laughed about that for weeks. I'm sure the officer did too. It has to be coincidental that I'm writing this on April Fool's Day, right?
Probably the next thing I need to explain is my title--Always Winter. That's easy. Never Summer was already taken. Stopping to think about it, Always Winter is better than Never Summer anyway, because even if it is Never Summer, it could also be spring or fall besides Winter. Not that I dislike spring or fall; Winter is just better. Well, OK, I do dislike spring, but not fall. Fall means Winter is on the way. Always Winter, in my mind, would be the height of seasonal glory. I'm not sadistic like the White Witch in Narnia who declared that it must be always Winter and never Christmas. Christmas is part of why Winter is the most beloved of all seasons. I don't get all gushy over longer days, pretty little flowers poking their heads out of the ground and birdies singing. As for summer, I don't own a bathing suit, and who wants to see all that skin anyway? Trust me--you don't want to see mine. Give me a raging blizzard and a couple feet of snow any day.
OK, I love to write, so a blog is perfect for me. Today does mark something of a milestone. I picked up the 5,000th cigarette butt in my "collection." It should be noted here that my grandson, Jonathan, helped me. And he was a BIG help. Unlike the gloves (59) I'm not really saving the butts I pick up. Yuck. Too stinky! Everyone who carelessly tosses their cigarette butts to the curb, sidewalk edge, parking lot or grassy area should have "The world is my ashtray" tattooed across their forehead. Maybe I am sadistic. An explanation of my love for trash pickin' as I call it, will have to wait for another time.
The days are getting longer, I think that's iris trying to break ground out front and the Estes Park News reported that the Mountain Bluebird has returned. It's April 1st. That means it's 264 days until Winter.
Always,
Winter
Probably the next thing I need to explain is my title--Always Winter. That's easy. Never Summer was already taken. Stopping to think about it, Always Winter is better than Never Summer anyway, because even if it is Never Summer, it could also be spring or fall besides Winter. Not that I dislike spring or fall; Winter is just better. Well, OK, I do dislike spring, but not fall. Fall means Winter is on the way. Always Winter, in my mind, would be the height of seasonal glory. I'm not sadistic like the White Witch in Narnia who declared that it must be always Winter and never Christmas. Christmas is part of why Winter is the most beloved of all seasons. I don't get all gushy over longer days, pretty little flowers poking their heads out of the ground and birdies singing. As for summer, I don't own a bathing suit, and who wants to see all that skin anyway? Trust me--you don't want to see mine. Give me a raging blizzard and a couple feet of snow any day.
OK, I love to write, so a blog is perfect for me. Today does mark something of a milestone. I picked up the 5,000th cigarette butt in my "collection." It should be noted here that my grandson, Jonathan, helped me. And he was a BIG help. Unlike the gloves (59) I'm not really saving the butts I pick up. Yuck. Too stinky! Everyone who carelessly tosses their cigarette butts to the curb, sidewalk edge, parking lot or grassy area should have "The world is my ashtray" tattooed across their forehead. Maybe I am sadistic. An explanation of my love for trash pickin' as I call it, will have to wait for another time.
The days are getting longer, I think that's iris trying to break ground out front and the Estes Park News reported that the Mountain Bluebird has returned. It's April 1st. That means it's 264 days until Winter.
Always,
Winter
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